My Dirty Little Secret

I spit a lot when I run. Like a camel but without the skill for projection. I've also taken to blowing my nose without a receptacle, shall we say. But again, I have no aptitude for it. I often christen my shoes or anoint my shoulder in the process.

I'm not proud.

I blame it on my Episcopalian upbringing, although it's possible that I missed the day in Sunday School when the teacher demonstrated how Mary Magdalene spit on Christ's feet when she washed them.

It could also be the pie in my armpits that is rendering me too wholesome for shooting mucus. Let me explain. I recently bought new deodorant that is scented like Vanilla Chai, or so they claim. I don't know what made me go for something that makes you smell like a morning with The New Yorker at a Starbucks in Harvard Square. It certainly doesn't make me smell like a runner.

Right Guard. Speed Stick. Those are appropriate smells for a runner. They smell like fitness, not a Venti non-fat soy latte.

Do you think that if I used men's deodorant I would be able to spit properly? Or would I just start losing my sense of direction all the time?

The Secret deodorant website (there's officially a site for everything) tells me that I have a "scent expression" and that they can forecast it for me by answering a few questions. My scent expression? What does a blend of fatigue, boredom, and exasperation smell like?

If I'd known I needed to take a quiz prior to selecting the scent to mask my BO, I would have been matched with Tropical Tango ("light and carefree, like a Hawaiian sunset"), based on discerning queries about whether I'd rather be a mermaid or a forest nymph (mermaid, please).

Nowhere in the quiz do they ask you things like "Would you like to just not pay your taxes and see what happens?" or "Do you ever--just a little bit--want your child to fear you?" These answers might say more about the real me, who needs to be masked by a powerfully deceptive scent.

Anyway, I'm stuck with Vanilla Chai pits for a while, until I give Tropical Tango a whirl. In the meantime, I fear that at a race in the not-too-distant future, another runner will smell me and assume Dunkin Donuts is a sponsor handing out munchkins. If that runner is you, my scent will definitely not intimidate you into quaking in your Asics, although you might rightfully fear that my errant spit and snot could land on your shirt.